


Dear Mother

by Fierystorm22



Series: Dear Mother [1]
Category: Shishi089's Story
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierystorm22/pseuds/Fierystorm22
Summary: Anyone remember the story by Shishi089 on Quizilla? Kyo, Nya, Fai, Keith, Arisa, Toya? Yea, I love that story. This is a fanfiction based off of it. All original rights to Shishi089, but I own my character.After living with her chosen one for over thirty years, a frightening revelation is made in the face of Arisa's kidnapping.





	1. Kyo's Result

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shishi089](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shishi089).



> This is likely going to be the only chapter written in first POV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you chose Kyo, this is your result.

_Dinner wasn’t cooked. The house was empty. He could tell that immediately after stepping into the house. It didn’t take long. He wondered vaguely if she’d been held up at the bakery again. Last time it had been because a neighbor shop owner had grown angry enough to attack._

_He couldn’t thank Keith enough for being there in time to stop it, even if he did know she could take care of herself just fine, since Rain’s power had been transferred to her. Keith always did say he was overprotective, but what else did he expect? She was lucky he left the house at all anymore._

_The kitchen. . . . It was a mess. The table was overturned. There was half-seasoned steak on the countertop. The kind she’d always seasoned in the morning, before dinner. She’d let it soak up the seasoning while they both worked. And . . . was that blood? On the floor?_

_A chill ran down the Demon’s spine, and he tensed, looking around. “Arisa?” he called. “Arisa!” No answer, and he didn’t smell death. Following the blood markings to the stairs, then up the stairs, he couldn’t still his beating heart. There was blood on his doorknob. He stood and stared at it longer than he should have before reaching out to grasp the knob. The blood was sticky, almost dried, and cold._

_Whatever had happened, it had happened hours ago._

_Opening the door slowly, he took a deep breath. Blood, and fear, and some other scent lingered. The blood led to their bedside table. The bed was messy, like someone had been thrown on it—a look Kyo knew well._

_There was blood on his mother’s picture frame. He picked it up, hearting skipping a beat. Turning it over and over in his hands, he decided to take the picture out of the now slightly broken frame. When he turned it over, he dropped the picture._

_Written on the back was “Toya’s alive.”_

_Fai paused at the door. There was an unusual dark presence in the house, and he wasn’t sure what it was for a moment. Then he recognized the feeling. With a sigh, he opened the door, greeted by the sight of Kyo casually sipping something from a mug at his kitchen table._

_Despite his almost careful pose, Fai knew the Demon well enough to know he was on edge. His hand curled around the coffee mug with such force, his knuckles were white, and his usual gleaming hair was messy, and tangled. His cheeks stood out and he had dark circles under his eyes. “You look like hell,” he told the Demon._

_Kyo, whose eyes had immediately fell upon the Angelic creature in the doorway, shrugged one broad shoulder. “I_ am _hell,” he replied._

_“Why are you here?”_

_He set the mug down gently, carefully, and Fai could see the trembling in his hands. He steeled himself for the worst. The Demon never got this way._

_“Arisa’s missing. And . . . Toya’s back.”_


	2. Keith's Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you chose Keith, this is your result.

_The house was dark when he got home from work. Nobody was home. He couldn’t smell dinner. This took him aback. He was used to coming home to dinner on the table. He had to admit, he’d become quite spoiled in that regard, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home to an empty house, and an empty stomach._

_It was times like this that he rethought his plans on kids, and almost—almost—wanted to have some. If he wasn’t so afraid of what his blood would do to them, he probably would’ve had kids. He knew she wanted them—he was just afraid._

_So they waited, both of them knew they had all the time they wanted. After finding out the bond she’d shared with Rain all those times had had a particular effect on her, she’d stopped aging, and had developed powers of her own. A mere human once, now a lesser powerful Witch. Quite a change for all of them to take in. Human, to inhuman. Mortal, to immortal._

_And it was this reason that he wasn’t overly worried when he walked into the empty house—until he noticed the blood on the floor. It led to the stairs. Heart pounding, he instantly recognized the blood as hers, and followed it up the stairs, to the door to Kyo’s old room. His brother oftentimes stopped by, once or twice a year, so a lot of his most important belongings still resided there, and it still felt odd to go in without his permission. However, the blood on the doorknob pushed aside his reservations._

_He followed the small blood spots, around the bed—to the picture Kyo kept on his bedside table, of his mother. A blood spot, on the corner of the picture frame.  He pulled the picture out of its frame, turning it around to look at the back._

_“Toya’s alive.”_

_Nya sat on the hill, eyes closed, ears attuned to every sound of the world. He wasn’t surprised when he heard the grunts, and the voice. He’d known for an hour that he was coming. But he didn’t move._

_“Nya. . . .” The man he’d once called his brother spoke. His voice was tired, desperate. “Nya, I need your help.”_

_“Keith, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I told you, this time, I’m putting my people first. They need me.”_

_“I need you more. Nya, please-”_

_“I can’t. I put my people on hold for you once, but I can’t, and won’t, leave them again.”_

_“Nya, please! Just listen to me!” The pleading voice he used made Nya finally look up, curious. There was a broken look on his old friend’s face. And he smelled, and looked, as though he’d been running for days. There was a scent of desperation to him._

_Nya’s tail puffed out. “Arisa . . . ?”_

_“Toya’s alive, and he’s got her.”_


	3. Fai's Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you chose Fai, this is result.

_It was dark. The house was empty. He didn’t need to go inside to see that. No lights were on, and when he opened the door, he didn’t smell dinner cooking. It had been a long time since he’d come home to no food on the table. Almost fifty years, technically. Ever since he’d met her._

_He’d come to expect it, enjoy it, and though he hated to admit it, he knew he took it for granted oftentimes. And though he hated to admit it, he was disappointed dinner wasn’t cooking, and he shook his head free of those thoughts. She probably got busy at the bakery, or something like that. Maybe another earthquake had happened—no, he’d feel that. Last time, he’d felt it beforehand and protected the shop the best he could. He didn’t even care that a couple people had seen him._

_Just as long as she was safe. He didn’t care what else happened. Besides, after Kyo’s last-minute protection from the fire, and Keith stopping that neighbor from attacking, people already suspected the place was protected by otherworlders. Nya’s capture of the robber wasn’t helping, either._

_The house felt empty, and he wanted to shower. His hair was sweaty and his body sore. It wasn’t until he was walking up the stairs, hand trailing up the railing, that he noticed the blood. It was still wet. Panic rose in him, and he knew it was hers. Had she cut herself-? No, no, because she would’ve called for him. And there wouldn’t be so much blood. He followed the blood up, to Kyo’s room. There was still wet, slightly warm blood on the doorknob, and he pushed the door open._

_No body, so that was good. Right? He ventured further into the room. There was blood on the corner of Kyo’s picture of his mother, and a bit of blood on the side table. It took only a moment before he lifted the picture, looked it over, then slowly took it from its frame, promptly dropping it._

_“Toya’s alive,” scrawled in blood, stared at him._

_Kyo was just finishing up, ready to return home to Hell. He had to stop at the Crossroads first, and when he did, he heard a familiar voice._

_“Kyo.” That voice, it sounded tired, dark. Not at all like the Angel he remembered fondly._

_He turned, staring at the Angel just feet from him. His hair was tangled, particularly at the top of his head, almost like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked dirty, rumpled. Like he’d been there for days. Kyo could smell the faint unwashed scent from him, and knew he had been there for days. There was a lost, desperate look in his eyes that Kyo didn’t like. “Fai. What’s happened?” A panicked feeling set in. “It’s Arisa, isn’t it?”_

_He looked up, met his eyes. The desperation, fear, and anger in his made Kyo tense. “Toya’s back. And he has Arisa.”_


	4. Nya's Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you'd chosen to end up with Nya at the end of the story, this is your result.

_Everything was quiet. He couldn’t hear anything, or sense anything. There were no smells he could pick up on. The cooking dinner he’d come to expect every night he came home wasn’t cooking, he could smell that. Disappointment pushed in at him, but he figured she had been delayed at work or something. Shrugging one, broad shoulder, he made his way toward the front door._

_So she wasn’t home. For a brief moment, he hoped nothing had happened again. It had been a couple years since the attempted-robbery, and he’d put a stop to that real quick. He’d been in the bakery, smelling the wonderful smells of a full day, picking through a crème puff he knew nobody would miss—she often set aside a plate for him at the bakery, and at nights, he would partake in them. She knew he often liked to sit in the bakery and imagine what her day had been._

_After all, he’d never be able to do that during the day. He’d never be able to actually_ see _her working, so he often sat in there and imagined it. Imagined how fast she got her orders done. How kind her smile would be to customers. How her customers’ eyes would light up at the prospect of delicious, warm baked goods._

_So he often went to sit there, and think, and imagine, and munch on the crème puffs. And that night, someone had made the bad decision to break in. He’d been too preoccupied in his own thoughts to notice at first—cities, after all, were full of strange smells and noises. And he hadn’t realized the sounds he’d heard and the smells he’d smelled were from an attempted-robbery until the man was inside, staring at him as he delicately ate his crème puff._

_The man had stared at him, eyes wide and confused, as he licked the last of the crème off his hands. It was, as always delicious, and he wouldn’t have wanted to waste any of the crème on his clothes. And then he’d slowly stood, and the man backed away, as if he truly believed he could escape a clawed creature with reflexes much faster than his own. He’d run, of course, but he’d been easy to catch. Like playing with a mouse who really didn’t want to be eaten._

_Only he wasn’t going to be eaten. He’d played with him, of course. It was so rare he got to see humans. And who would believe a robber, anyway? The robber didn’t believe himself. He’d chased him back and forth, beating him to the doors, and when he’d grown bored of that, pounced on him and tied him so quickly, his claws left small marks on his skin._

_At that point, the man was unconscious, tied up, gagged, and he went back to finish his crème puffs in silence, licking his claws clean until they shone. And he’d left the human there, alone, unconscious, to awaken when he felt like it. He wouldn’t get free anyway._

_There’d been a lot of questions about that, but of course, she never said anything. Played the unsuspecting human she had once been, so many years ago. Nobody knew that the robber was actually telling the truth. He’d been stopped by a creature with claws sharp as needles, ears fluffy and pointed, and a long, strong, fluffy tail. Nobody believed him, of course._

_And life had gone on. She’d never been in danger then, and she would never be in danger, if he had anything to say about it. But coming home to an empty house, it wasn’t something he was used to. In all his years being married to her, he’d never come home at night when she wasn’t there._

_He didn’t like walking into the empty, dark house. It made him apprehensive. And he wanted to come home and snuggle with his wife. It was times like this he realized he wanted a family, and he decided when she got home, he would talk to her about that. They’d specifically decided to hold off on that for awhile. After all, they both had all the time they wanted to have kids, and they were both busy with their work. But now, now, he realized it had been a bad decision, and he wanted to change that._

_After all, Nekos were family creatures._

_And then he smelled it. Blood. Every hair on his body stood up. His tail fluffed up. His ears perked, swiveling around to hear anything he could. It was too quiet, he realized. No smells. No sounds. Blood. But not death. He didn’t smell death. He followed the smell of blood, knowing it was several hours old. The stairwell had spots of blood on it that hadn’t been there before. It was dried, blotchy—_

_And it was hers. No doubt about that. He knew that scent._

_He followed it. Kyo’s old room, he found blood on the doorknob. The room was dusty and hadn’t been touched in years—Kyo rarely visited anymore, but he still left important things there. He sniffed out the source of the blood, and found no body. Nothing. But it came from Kyo’s picture of his mother. He picked it up, turned it over, and, inspiration striking, pulled the picture out of the frame, examining the back of it._

_And immediately dropped the picture._

_Scrawled in blood on the back in messy handwriting was, “Toya’s alive.”_

_Keith was in the process of praying to his Hecate statue, showing his support for an old friend, when he heard the doors of his temple open. Not looking back, he continued to pray. Whoever it was could wait._

_“K-Keith,” he heard someone gasp. He knew that voice._

_He didn’t respond._

_“Keith, pl-please,” Nya gasped again. He was breathing hard._

_He’d never known his old friend to be so breathless, but he was busy. He stood. “Whatever it is, Nya, I don’t have time for it. I’ve told you before, I have obligations now.”_

_“Keith, you don’t understand-!”_

_“No, Nya, you don’t. It’s been over thirty years since we had this talk. I thought you understood that I wouldn’t-”_

_“Keith, stop, you don’t understand. I’m trying to-!”_

_“Nya, please.” He turned to give his old friend a harsh look. “I really don’t have time to go through this all again. We were friends. Best friends, and I loved you like a brother, but things change. People change. And I told you, I didn’t want to be reminded of it every day.” He turned away from the one he’d once considered a brother. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got business to attend to.”_

_Anger rose in Nya. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, but Keith was still his best mate—even if Keith himself didn’t realize it anymore. He questioned the Gods up above how he’d fallen so far apart with Keith, but grown so close to Kyo that Keith no longer visited, but Kyo still kept in touch._

_“Fine! Fine. You don’t want to bothered by me anymore, that’s fine. You don’t want to be my friend anymore, that’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Keith was his best friend. Nya could feel his heart shattering all over again, just like the first time Keith had told him he wanted nothing to do with anyone anymore. “You don’t want to hang around me, fine. I just thought you should know-!”_

_“Whatever it is, leave a message with my assistant. I’ll get back to you.”_

_Anger rose. He whirled away, tail lashing angrily against the floor. “Fine,” he spat. “I’ll tell the others you don’t give a damn that Arisa’s been taken by Toya.”_


	5. Dear Guardian Angel, Where Have You Gone?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The world smelled like smoke, and ashes. I stared out at the world around me, bouncing around as my mother ran with me in her arms. Her breathing was heavy, and her arms were tight. I could hear a shout, and she swiveled her head every which way, as though looking for the source of the shout. Then we were going down. For a moment, I was afraid. The ground rushed up to meet us, but my mother rolled expertly, taking the brunt of the fall onto her own shoulders and back._

_She lay there a moment, gasping, obviously having tripped or collapsed. I craned my head up to look at her face, my own heart pounding. Everyone around me was blurring. She was the only clear thing I could see, and even she wasn’t all that clear. Her features kept shifting, as though her face couldn’t decide what it wanted to look like. First a redhead with grey eyes, then a brunette with startling pure green eyes, and a blond with blue eyes, and a black-haired girl with brown eyes. High cheeks, low cheeks, rounded cheeks, squared—her face couldn’t decide._

_Then she was lifting us off the ground, and crawling up stairs. Glancing up, I saw a huge building made of stone. She sat up, soot-covered face still changing oh, so much, and shifted so that she was on her knees, holding me. She crushed me to her, holding so tightly, I thought I would break. Then she pushed me away, before I could return the hug. I fell back, onto the hard, grey-beige ground, and glanced down at it, before looking back up at her with wide eyes. The fall hurt, and I felt myself tear up._

_She lifted something over her head, then placed it over my own head. “Blow this if ever you are afraid and alone. Help will come.” She showed me a pink and white object attached to a blue cord. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at me, and I felt scared again. I reached forward to hug her, but she pushed me away, still staring at me. Breath hitching, she stood, and I reached up to take her hand. She shook my hand off, gave me a sad, tear-filled smile, and ran._

_At first, I ran after her. Thinking I had to, thinking it was what she wanted. After all, why would mommy leave me? But she was faster, flitting through the crowd like smoke, and I, I was clumsy, and slow. I tripped over my own feet, and fell headfirst into the hard, beige ground, biting my lip hard. I tasted something florally, thick, and warm, before it leaked from my lip. Pain. I started to cry, reaching up to clutch the shell-like thing around my throat._

_It grew dark as I sat there, crying, watching and waiting for mommy, but she never came. The people thinned out, and slowly disappeared. And I was alone. And afraid._

_Then I realized, that must’ve been why she gave me the thing. To call her, when I lost her. I lifted it to my lips, ignoring the dried blood, and the pain, and blew into it. Hard. A sweet-sounding, high note sounded from it. Curling my knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs, tucked the shell into my shirt, and waited._

_A minute passed, then two, then—_

_“I don’t see anyone.”_

_“Here? Are you sure?”_

_“I heard it, I know I did.”_

_“Maybe you were imagining it.”_

_“I wasn’t imagining it!”_

_Four men. Four men that stood apart from the blurry world. Four men that were as crystal clear as could get. The one closest to me had long golden hair and bright blue eyes. He gave off a calming, serene aura, despite his obvious rush._

_The one closest to him had ivory hair and icy blue eyes. He was calm, but very impatient, and couldn’t seem to stop pacing._

_Then there was a man with deep red hair that was almost brown, and green eyes. He was quiet, watching the last man rush around. Though he was still, there was a sense of movement to him—like he could move at any time. Like he wanted to._

_And the last, the furthest from me, had golden hair hidden under a large hat, and bright green eyes that seemed to shine. He was impatient, nose to the wind as he moved this way and that. Anger and something else had darkened his face._

_I whimpered at seeing them. Something about them reminded me of Daddy—and Daddy wasn’t very pleasant._

_The closest man to me tensed, then turned to stare at me. A smile broke across his face as he walked closer. “Did you fall?”_

_I nodded._

_He reached out, and I flinched away. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m going to make it better.”  He reached out again, as though to touch me, and I flinched, but let him. A warmth started in my chin and lip, like warm water—and the pain started to fade. “There you are,” he said, withdrawing his hand once the pain was gone. “All better now, isn’t it?”_

_I nodded again. “Thank you,” I said, finally remembering my manners._

_He looked around then, as if finally noticing I was alone. “Where’s your mommy?” he asked softly._

_I blinked and looked at the ground. Tears started to flood my eyes. “I-I lost her. She-she left me there,” I pointed to the building mommy had left me at, “and I tried to follow her when she left, but she was too fast.”_

_He gazed at the building, a sense of sadness creeping over his face. “Dear child,” he said gently. “Oh, dear. How unfortunate.”_

_“Fai, are you listenin-oh. A human child. Where’s its parent?” The ivory-haired one had come closer, and he looked around. His presence was frightening to me._

_I whimpered slightly._

_“Her mom left her at the orphanage. She tried to follow her, but . . . obviously that did no good.” Before I could react, the blond pulled me into his arms and stood. He walked swiftly toward the building mommy had left me at. “It’s okay, little one. No harm shall come to you here.” He smiled down at me, and I almost believed him. I didn’t even feel the jolt as he carried me up the stairs—it was almost like he was floating._

_And to add to that belief, I saw glowing, sheer, white wings behind him. He seemed to glow._

_“Fai, what are you doing—there are humans!”_

_“They are nuns. As Angelic as humans can get. And they are used to seeing Angels. Stand back, Kyo. You might frighten them.”_

_I whimpered, burying my face in his shoulder. “Will they help me find my mommy?”_

_He looked down at me, and I looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes. There was still a sad look on his face. “Yes. They will help you find your mommy.” There was something about the way he said it. “She might not look the same, though, but she is still your mommy. Just remember that, okay?”_

_“What do you mean, she won’t look the same?”_

_“Sometimes mommies got away for a very long time,” another voice said, and I looked over to see the other blonde man talking. He smiled gently. “Sometimes when they come back, they’re almost like different people, but you can’t let them know you know that. You have to treat them the same.”_

_“What Nya means is, even if you don’t think she’s your mommy, she’s your mommy. Nothing will change that.” He smiled, and the door opened as the other three boys hid around the corner._

_An older woman stared at us as she opened the door. Her mouth was open as she stared. “You-you’re a-an-!”_

_“Please be sure to care for this little one gently. She’s lost her mommy, and she needs help finding her again.” He started to hand me off to the woman._

_I grabbed onto his arm. “No, wait! Wh-where are you going?” I didn’t want to leave him. “I-I want to stay with you!”_

_He smiled softly, sadly, and reached back to pluck what seemed to crystalize into a feather. He handed it to me. “Hold onto that for me. Some day, I might come back for it.”_

_I took the feather, clutching it to my chest. “You-you promise?”_

_He nodded. “I’ll always be around.” He shot up into the air, and I watched him disappear._

_The old woman holding me stared, too. Her eyes were wide, and she couldn’t seem to breathe. “You must be special, young one,” she breathed, “to have an Angel like that looking out for you.”_

I gasped, sitting straight up. _That old dream again._ I sighed, lying back down in bed a moment longer. _It’s been a long time since I had that dream. I wonder what brought that up?_ Shaking my head, and sighing another sigh, I sat up again. That dream always put me on edge, but it had been years since the last time I’d had that dream.    

          My feet touched the rough, crappy carpet, and I pushed myself to stand. Walking toward my dresser, I paused at my window—I never did, but today, this morning, I felt compelled to walk to it, throw the curtains back, and open it.

          And there, on the outside of my sill, lay a single, large, white feather. Almost as though someone had put it there. _Nah,_ I thought, shaking my head, closing the window on that feather. _If some Angel was really watching out for me, he would’ve gotten me out of this dump a long, long time ago._

          “Sarana, get up and get ready for school! You’re gonna be late, and _I’m_ not driving you!”

          I sighed for the third time that morning. “I know!” Yanking my top dresser drawer open, I pulled out my school uniform. A short, pale teal plaid skirt, and a button-up matching shirt with a high collar that had to be folded down properly—or else.

          We were also required to wear high heels—black, white, or teal, but they had to be more than two inches, and no more than five. I never wore them. I also always paired black leggings with the short skirt, because it was just _that short._ I’d complained once, and they’d told me it was perfectly fine. The skirt I had was meant for someone who was as short as I was, but had shorter legs. I had long legs for someone so short.

          That made the regulation skirt that much shorter on me, and they refused to let me get it tailored to fit right. It was short to begin with—on me, it was even more so. I was 4’11, and with the required skirt fitting for my height and waist, the skirt size was extra small. It fit my waist just fine. It was just about three inches too short for my legs.

          And nobody cared.

          Especially not for the orphan.

          Maybe if I’d really had an Angel come to bat for me, they would’ve listened. Or even just some parents who _cared._

          Nah. I just get stuck with parents who barely feed me enough to keep me alive, lock the fridge at night, and don’t pay attention if I get sick or hurt. I was required to be in the house by six PM, and if I wasn’t, I was in Big Trouble. I had to clean top to bottom—every day—and if I didn’t, I was in Big Trouble.

          What is Big Trouble, one might ask?

          I opened my bedroom door, walked out into the hall, and glanced up at the door on the ceiling that led to the attic. There was a pad lock on it that kept it from being able to be opened by anyone but Big Daddy—his choice of calling. Not mine.

          I heard scrapes from above, and a slight whimper. Eddie was in Big Trouble right now. He’d been caught eating dog food. Couldn’t blame him. I’d been tempted once or twice. He was the youngest of us.

          See, that’s what I meant by, if I had an Angel looking out for me, I wouldn’t be here. Those old dreams were just fantasy. Hopes.

          I could hear Eddie crying when I went into the bathroom. There was a small hole in the ceiling that some of us often used to pass things through when one of us was in Big Trouble. Today, I pulled a stolen Tootsie Roll from my pocket and passed it through the hole, having to stand on the sink to do so. It was snatched from my hand quickly, and I felt my stomach wrench at the thought of five year old Eddie being alone up there.

          He sure didn’t have an Angel looking out for him.

          I changed quickly, whispered, “Bye, Eddie,” and left the room. Brianna pushed past me into the room, and I could see a crust of bread clenched in her hand. Brianna often starved herself for the youngest kids, and I followed her example. We’d go days without eating, especially if one of us was in Big Trouble, and we’d pass our food to the younger ones.

          _Where’s my Angel when I need him?_

          I passed Big Daddy on the way down. His real name was Markus. He hated to be called that. He glared at me on my way out. “You following school dresscode this time?”

          I glanced down at myself. Properly attired in too-short skirt, black, plain, three-inch heels clutched in my hand, I nodded.

          He grumbled. “Bring me your backpack.”

          I did, and I watched him go through it. _If I were stupid enough to hide my leggings or boots in there, how would I wear them every day?_ But I didn’t say that. Instead, I watched him go through my backpack silently, and waited for him to give it back.

          He did. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. If you don’t watch yourself, I’m going to have to make you help Brianna with her special chores.” He gave me a look, and I winced. He’d never said that to me before. He liked’em young, but usually not my age young. Sixteen, seventeen. Almost, almost legal.

          Oh. Wait. I was almost sixteen.

          A shiver went down my spine at the thought.

          He scratched his crotch, and I looked away, feeling green.

          Brianna caught my eye in the doorway, and her eyes were wide, horrified. “But Big Daddy,” she said soothingly, “you like when I do it, don’t you? You don’t want to replace me?” She went down on her knees as she said this.

          He looked at her, and I saw it then. An almost-bored look. “It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what you do that’s so important.”

          She scurried closer on her knees. “You like what I do, don’t you, Big Daddy?”

          He scratched his crotch again, glancing at me, then plying her with the full force of his brown eyes. He had salt and pepper close-cropped hair, and a beer belly, and always smelled of BO and sex. “Come show me.”

          She gave me a look then, and I understood. _Leave._

          She wasn’t the first Brianna, but, so far, I liked her the most. I hoped when I turned into the next Brianna, I would be like her. I knew it was coming, especially since Brianna’s eighteenth birthday was coming up, and they kicked them out as soon as that happened. How anyone adopted out to this family, I would never know, but after the oldest reached eighteen, they would just adopt one more.

          And after Brianna, I would be the oldest.

          The first Brianna that I remembered was blond, blue-eyed, and quiet. She never spoke, never moved. Unless doing her chores. Then she said whatever he wanted her to say. She never stuck up for the younger kids. Just always kept her distance.

          After her, it was a brown-eyed, buxom brunette that could give Angelina Jolie a run for her money in the looks department. She was the youngest, and she lasted until she was nineteen before they threw her out. Though, to be honest, I think she ran away. They just took credit for kicking her out. And I couldn’t blame her for running. She was the prettiest one that had ever come through here, and she was treated the worst.        

          He’d get angry at her when she flinched away from him, or tensed around him, and yell at her that she thought she was too pretty for him. Then he’d beat her. I’d never seen someone bleed so much until her. And after her, I never wanted to see it again.

          She was always helping the younger kids. When she vanished, the one to replace her went, too, and I often thought she took her with her, to protect her. Maybe to protect us. He had to wait two years before starting another Brianna. She had red hair and beautiful green eyes, and I loved her to death. She was so scared of everything. I wanted to protect her. She would divide her food in half with everyone. Not just the younger ones, but anyone who was hungry that day.

          After her, it was a girl with black-hair and black eyes. I believe she was Chinese. She fought back violently at first, and if he went to hit one of the younger girls, she’d take the beating. I think she actually was my favorite. She was definitely the strongest—or the most foolish. I wasn’t sure how to look at it. For two years, she fought back against him, against everything, and stole food for everyone—she ended up being beaten so badly, she was in a coma now.

          And still, here we are. In the house, in the family, that allowed it to happen. Markus had claimed someone had broken in and caused it, and he’d even had some things go missing to claim it was a burglary. He got away with it, and I still visited Mia in the hospital every chance I got.

          And then Brianna. She took over once Mia was gone, and she’d been the mother to everyone since she got here. I was three when placed in this house. She was ten. And she’d always been the mothering type. She’d starve herself for the other kids, go days without eating. She inspired me to do the same, but often chastised me for not eating when she realized what I was doing.

          I’d reached the front door in my reverie, and, pulling my backpack higher onto my shoulder, I bolted out. School may have been bad, but it was better than this place.

 

 

“What do you mean, you forgot your gym clothes— _again_?” Mr. Thatcher was not pleased with me.

          I did not care. “I didn’t say I forgot them,” I said quickly. “I just said I didn’t bring them.”

          “So you forgot them.”   

          _Not the brightest bulb in the bunch, are we?_ Instead of saying that, I looked down at my black, beaten up boots. “I don’t have them with me.”

          He glared down at me, I could see that. “You’ll have to sit out, _again._ ” He waved his giant arm toward the bleachers, and I winced slightly, but made my way there.

          I actually would’ve loved to partake in gym. If our gym clothes weren’t so friggin’ . . . well, sexist. Short shorts and a crop top for girls, and basketball shorts or jogging pants and a teeshirt or sweater for the boys. The boys got more options. The girls had to look mostly naked.

          Sometimes I thought Mr. Thatcher liked seeing half-naked teenaged girls. Other times, I thought he liked seeing half-dressed teenaged boys. I don’t think he had a preference, but he definitely wanted to see more skin on the girls.   

          I sat on the bleachers, watching everyone have fun. I would’ve liked to play some of the games they got to play. And climbing those ropes looked fun. But no way was I putting on _less_ clothes to do those things. The short skirt was enough for me.

          Ignoring Mr. Thatcher’s constant glare, I opened my notebook and began to write. At least I got to do something I liked. And, on the plus side, I also got out of doing that whole community shower thing.

          “Hey,” I heard. I looked up. Jason Matthews stood at the foot of the bleachers, looking up at me. There was a very unpleasant look on his face. “Afraid to show off your bod because you’re fat, or are you just deformed?”

          I glanced down at myself. Fat? If I was fat, what was his version of skinny? I weighed sixty pounds—not healthy, by the way, but being starved does do wonders for your weight! “If I’m fat,” I said softly, not looking up from my notebook, “what does that make you, since you’re three times my size?”

          I saw enough of him to see the rage that passed his face. “Did you call me fat?”

          I shook my head. “No, technically, _you_ called yourself fat.” I looked up at him then. “Your arm is literally the size of my leg, and my waist is about the size of your leg. If I’m fat,” I turned the page of my notebook, looking back down, “then you’re ginormous.”

          An angry sound came from him, and I think he’d have said more, but Mr. Thatcher called him away. I let out a sigh of relief. There was something wrong about that boy. I really disliked him. He and his gang always found ways to pick on me. Their favorite being my ears.

          _Yes, they’re pointed. Yes, they’re kinda big. Yes, they’re not normal. Yes, they’re not like yours. But you’ve had twelve years to get used to this. Do you have brain damage that causes you to forget everything instantly, or are you just dumb?_

          It was annoying, but, really, what could you do? Cry? I’d wasted a decade of tears waiting for my Angel to come back—I wasn’t wasting anymore tears on my personal demons.

          Someone was glaring at me. I felt it. Looking up, I met dark brown eyes, and felt myself smile. Annie Morgan. She hated me, though I never could figure out why. She was the school bitch, the queen bee. Flinging all that luscious brown hair and squinting those doe brown eyes, she got everything she wanted—except me to move.

          I darkened her world by existing, she’d once told me. Because I was worthless. An orphan. A nobody. And I had to exist alongside of HER.

          Ugh. I hated people like that. She was a nightmare. Really. She hiked her already short skirt up higher than even mine. The bottom of her underwear—should she choose to wear any—was always visible. She wore six-inch high heels, a ton of makeup, and constantly looked constipated—or, to me, she did.

          I once told her she needed to just shit and get it over with. It would make her feel so much better. She’d punched me for that, and I’d laughed at her.

          Ignoring her, I went back to my writing. She couldn’t bother me if I wasn’t paying attention to her.

 

An hour and some change later, it was lunchtime, and I was, as usual, sitting on my own. I’d barely gotten two bites of my food before Jackson, the biological teenaged son of my adoptive family, sat across me, a nasty smirk on his face. “You know what mom and dad would do if they saw you eating, ruining that pretty figure they’ve worked so hard to keep.”

          Jackson was on the way to becoming his father. Or worse. Unlike his father, he didn’t give a damn about ages. He’d been messing around with Brianna since she got to the house. The first couple times he’d tried, I’d gone to Markus, believing he would put an end to it. He had, and had beaten Jackson so badly he never tried it again. Back then, I believed Markus, despite the horrible vibe I got from him, would protect me.

          I hadn’t realized he was just like Jackson—only with an age limit. Once you reached ten, Markus didn’t care what Jackson did to you. I once heard him tell Jackson that until he was eighteen, his age limit was ten. After eighteen, Markus wouldn’t let him touch anyone under sixteen.

          “An adult would get in too much trouble touching younger than that,” he’d said, “so you learn to wait until they’re almost legal. They can’t do anything then. They’re yours.” His words.

          I said nothing, just glared at him as he ate my food. The painful churning in my stomach told me I couldn’t sit and watch him anymore. I had to leave. The smells of food—food that I apparently was not allowed to have—were getting to me. Not saying anything, I stood, whirled, and left him to my food. Jackson weighed over two hundred pounds—it wasn’t like he didn’t get fed enough. No, he made it a point to eat any food of ours he could.

          That’s probably how he got so fat to begin with. At lunch, if he shared lunch with any of us, he’d go around systematically stealing our food. Glancing around, I saw Brianna sitting with her hands in her lap, staring mournfully down at the empty table, and knew he’d already gotten hers.

          As I left the cafeteria, I saw him making his way toward Rebeca, and knew he was going to steal her food, too.

          _Where’s my Angel now?_

 

Whistling the tune “Homeward Bound,” I was actually homeward bound. I wasn’t that far from home when I started to pass the old bakery. Or, at least, it used to be a bakery, and technically also a cafe. Now it was a demolished little building that everyone swore was haunted.

          Something like fifty years ago, it was popular. From what I’d heard the story was sixty years ago, maybe seventy, a girl worked there. A girl who had lost her mom two years prior. And she worked there, from fifteen, to twenty-eight, supporting herself. Apparently, she got married at twenty-five, to a very handsome man that nobody ever saw much of, bought the shop at twenty-eight, and ran it until her disappearance at fifty-six.

          Anyone who saw her would swear she hadn’t aged a day since fifteen years old. Many people thought she was a Witch, or an Angel. She was kind, and though other shops around hers had been robbed, hers never was. One year, an earthquake happened, and everyone’s shop was demolished, except hers. One person said she saw an Angel floating over the shop, keeping it safe.

          Another year, a fire ran out of control in the shop next to hers. It caught the shop on the other side on fire, and caught the shop next to her shop on fire, but her shop never burnt. The man whose shop had started the fire swore he saw a Demon protecting hers.

          And once, someone actually did try to rob her shop, when it was closed. The story says she and her employees walked in to find him tied and gagged in the middle of the store, strange claw marks on his arms. He swore a man with cat ears and a tail stopped him, and after that went crazy.

Her shop always remained in perfect condition.

          Either she was a Witch or an Angel, or she had an Angel looking out for her, everyone believed.

          The owner of the shop next to hers became angry, and set out to prove her shop was protected, or she was a Witch. He attacked the shop during the day, and supposedly, a man stopped him. A friend of hers, supposedly, that appeared out of nowhere and just scared him off. If asked, the man would say the man who stopped him seemed perfectly ordinary, until he sprouted wings that were neither Angelic nor Demonic.

          So the rumors continued that her shop was protected by something otherworldly.

          And then one day, she just vanished. Didn’t show up to work. And thirteen years after she vanished, the shop caught fire, and all the employees inside it burnt to death. Any attempts to get them out backfired. Like something wanted them to die in that fire. Apparently even the original owner’s niece died in the fire, as well as an employee who’d worked there since the former owner owned it.

          The story goes—and probably untruthfully, too—that anyone who tried to get in to save those people was pushed back by an invisible force. And when they tried to get out, they seemed to hit an invisible wall. They couldn’t get out.

          The rumor that started after that was that the owner had died, and the pact she’d made with God to keep it safe broke, and the Devil took it all with him. Or that she’d made a pact with the Devil, and once it was broken, he took the shop and the employees with him as payment.

          Nobody had ever tried to rebuild it. Rumor was, her husband was still alive, and he had the deed to the place. He never came by. He never rebuilt. And he never sold it.

          Now, standing on the sidewalk in front of the place, I could sense something wrong about it. Something terrifying, and familiar. I always knew not to go in there. It was almost an instinctual fear of the place. In my imagination, I could see the faces of those employees pressed up against the windows, staring at me. Warning me off.

          Flashes of fire, and screams, passed through my head, and I winced, looking away from the place. “I hate that building,” I muttered, starting to walk away.

          Something moved behind me, toward the door of that old building, and I tensed, looking back—just as something ran into me from the side. A scream escaped me as I was lifted over someone’s shoulder, and carried toward the building.

          “Let me go! Let me go!”

          Laughter. I knew that laughter. “Jason, let me go! We can’t go in there!”

          “Scared, Pierson?” he taunted. “Scared of a couple ghosts, or is it the dust and bugs in there that scare you?”

          My pulse was in my throat now. “Let me go, Jason! I won’t go in there!” He passed through the door, and I grabbed onto the doorframe with both hands, holding him back. “I won’t,” I grunted, “go in there!”

          Andy and Frank each grabbed one of my hands, trying to pull them off the doorframe, grunting as they did.

          Jason was pulling me, too, but I wasn’t budging. “Let go, you’re too weak to stop us, anyway!”

          “Oh, yea?” I grunted. “Then what am I doing now!?” I tightened my hands around the doorframe, tensing my legs against Jason’s body so he couldn’t move any further, either. I wasn’t sure how I was outlasting all three boys, but I wasn’t about to stop any time soon. My body felt weak, but adrenaline was pumping through me, and I wasn’t going to argue. I could feel panic like a black mist in my head, and I couldn’t escape the visions of fire, screaming, and blood inside my head.

          Frank suddenly leant forward and bit my wrist. I cried out, letting go, and Andy did the same. Having let go with both hands so suddenly, with Jason pulling so hard, we surged forward, almost falling. If Frank and Andy hadn’t had hold of my wrists, thus serving as counter balances, we probably would’ve fallen.

          All three boys let out a triumphant laugh, and I had a moment to think, _Oh, no,_ when something passed through the air. A sort of surge. And I wasn’t the only one who felt it. The boys froze. Nothing happened for a second—then the door slammed shut.

          Jason threw me to the ground as they whirled to stare at the door, and I landed hard on my ass. I watched as they surged toward the door, trying to open it, but I knew it wouldn’t work.

          “What’s going on?” Andy asked breathlessly. He turned toward Jason. “I agreed to help you because you said it wasn’t haunted—how come the door won’t open, then!?”

          I couldn’t see Jason’s face, but I saw his shoulders tense. “It isn’t haunted, I swear!”

          “Yea? Are you so su-!” Frank trailed off, staring up as the lights flickered.           Another surge of something went through the air. This one much stronger. I stood. “Well, I don’t know about you three, but I’m getting out of here. It’s not funny anymore.” I walked toward the window, intending to break it open. As I drew my fist back, another surge ran through the air.

          And, with it, so did I. This time, it was powerful enough to lift me into the air, and throw me hard against a wall. Three thumps told me I wasn’t the only one, and, with that, everything went black.


End file.
